Soft Closer Of Our Eyes! Low Murmur

You Cannot Conceive How I Ache To Be With You: How I Would Die For One Hour.

Ay, On The Shores Of Darkness There Is A Light, And Precipices Show Untrodden Green; There Is A Budding Morrow In Midnight; There Is Triple Sight In Blindness Keen.

Of Love, That Fairest Joys Give Most Unrest.

Where The Nightingale Doth Sing Not A Senseless, Tranced Thing, But Divine Melodious Truth.

O Magic Sleep! O Comfortable Bird, That Broodest O'er The Troubled Sea Of The Mind Till It Is Hush'd And Smooth!